Gaze
by Mikeala-and-Whitney
Summary: Lady Lannister has grown accustomed to silence. AU.


Title: "Gaze"  
Summary: Lady Lannister has grown accustomed to silence.  
Characters/Pairings: Catwin. Catelyn/ Tywin.  
Warnings: Catwin being Catwin. Not really angst, but some sadness.  
Disclaimer: I own none of this franchise. None. At all.

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For the second time of the day, Catelyn found herself to be in the company of her husband. Though she favored most of her time in King's Landing alone, there was a…comfort-no, that was not the right word to use. Tywin Lannister seldom tried to comfort. She wondered if the man ever took comfort anywhere, even in battle. The suggestion of Tywin wavering an ax fiercely into a Northerner had never crossed her mind before—it did then. Robb's face dared to overtake her wits all over again.

Her expression did not change with this thought. It remained as was, a blank, near bored stare…at stitching. The stitching reminded her of Sansa. Arya…She seemed to think of Arya and Robb the most. She wondered if she should feel guilty for not thinking of Ned. Of the others, Rickon, Bran…the smooth trees Ned would pray to.

Her gaze had gradually lifted, to look at her husband. His posture was completely different from hers. While Lord Tywin sat at the desk, writing, his back was straight, most likely stiff as his bones. Catelyn presumed if she were to touch him, he'd prove cold too. She continued to knit, and stared for only short moments. There was no need for him to know what she was doing.

Catelyn imagined Cersei Lannister would think she was studying Lord Tywin, which in a way she was. The idea of it made everything less worrisome when she imagined it was merely here learning more of her husband.

However Cersei would think ill of it, think Lady Catelyn wished to know the lion's weaknesses, so be ready to pounce whenever need be. That Lady Stark still lurked somewhere inside her. Even when Catelyn wore Lannister colors. What was the saying? Dress a wolf in another's clothing, and it's still a wolf.

Cersei thought too often of the ill wills of fish and stags.

Her gaze dropped, back to the pattern again.

She'd like to think Tywin tolerated her company, if he did not enjoy it. As she would do the same for him. Catelyn would take time to knit, sat beside a fireplace or the window. She shifted the tingling sensation in her gut and the one that went down her spine…it bothered her. It bothered her deeply.

As ladywife, it was her duty. To keep him company, even in silence if need be. To honor him, to honor her family and stand as tall as they. Family. That wasn't something Cat had felt in years, was it that long already. Weren't those her words?

Family. Duty. Honor.

In that order and she'd do what Lady Catelyn always did. Survive. That was her curse. Catelyn survived the North, didn't she? When war had broke out between former allies. Robb had tried to be Ned. Robb had tried to be more than heir to Winterfell. Robb had failed.

The heat from the fireplace warmed her though, even from where she sat. Again, her thoughts scattered. She realized her cheeks flushed, and hands no longer cold. This wasn't like the North, where it was always cold and bitter. Unkind. It wasn't the weather that was unkind here.

She brushed loose strands of her hair back, behind her ears like before though she was sure they'd eventually fall back in place anyway. Her hair still up, tightly pulled excluding the loose strands of course.

Lord Tywin himself had said once that he favored her hair up; something about the sunlight would cause heatstroke however his lordship had avoided her eyes. It made a brief moment of amusement surface inside her. It made her want to smile.

Her fingers felt sore. She did not complain, did not stop-Cat loved to stitch, why stop something one loves to use for escape?

What was she wishing to escape? King's landing? Lord Tywin? Herself…? She shook her head, went on as that was all she could have done in that moment. Lord Tywin still silent. The only noise of movement inside the room was the crackling of the fireplace.

In the time she had with the silence, Cat noticed the room. The room they too often found themselves in together, second to Lord Tywin's chambers-it was where a proper view of the people of King's Landing happened to be conviviality placed. The poor still poor, and the rich still rich. Cats with cloaks of gold, and others with red. The same story, different ways of telling their ending.

Her eyes brushed over Lord Tywin's frame. She watched him take deep, soft breaths. The way his lips quirked some. He needed a shave, his face was very briskly and when he'd kissed her hand earlier. It had tickled to be honest. The idea of that made her fear she had blushed.

Lady Catelyn wondered if Lannisport looked similar to the port of King's Landing. Surely there were few of common men there, besides Lannisport was close to the great and just as cold Casterly Rock. She doubted the Lannisters would smile at anything less than gold.

Catelyn looked back at her knitting pattern. It appeared to be a fish, sign for Tully. But she wasn't a Tully, not anymore, no, that title was taken from her too. Riverrun even seemed like a dream, the rivers gone. Edmure gone. Lysa gone.

Even Littlefinger gone.

Cat even missed him. She thought to be sick at that idea. He took her Sansa with him, far away from here. Should she be grateful? Sansa was away from King's Landing, from the Lannisters, the people the place where Ned…

Lord Tywin cleared his throat. He hadn't made much noise since he arrived a few hours ago. The moment left a sort of reluctance and anticipation. For Tywin, it was perhaps the need to say something-or the feeling of needing to. For her…For her it was the wait to see if he'd speak to her and what he would say.

She hadn't looked at him again. Not even a sparing glance, though her lips quirked too. It wasn't a smile and it hadn't been a frown either. Neither suited her at the time. Her mind told her to look, to see but the burning was felt again. A different sort of heat. It was on her. On her face, cheeks, and arms…

It near overwhelmed her.

For a moment, she thought to speak-to ask his lordship if he was bothered by something. Her mouth failed her, her lips pressed tightly together. She looked at him, and he her.

An unnatural silence grew, and grew. Tywin's eyes on her still, the stare felt cool. His stare wasn't cold, neither resentful. A flicker of interest seemed to pass his features then back to that blankness from before. The action surprised her some. She'd known Tywin stole occasional glances at her-did Tywin see something she did not?

Her fingers brushed her hair back. The thought of Tywin watching without really looking for too long…it made her…she wasn't sure what it made her feel. Ned hadn't stared, watched her like he did. Ned wasn't distant, a man cloaked in red and gold. Her Ned was a Northerner, and he was a wolf—strong and honorable, but those traits did little in the Capital, didn't they?

Tywin eventually went back to his papers, and wrote once more, this time with less focus. He did not look at her though he spoke again a second later.

"Lady Catelyn. Your stitching seems to have lessened of the last few moments;" He dipped his quill "I am curious to why that it is." He dropped his shoulders, rigid yet again, furthermore he sighed.

He seemed not to be at all concerned. Catelyn knew a facade when she saw one—she had doubted it with Littlefinger, nevertheless Tywin was not as quick as Lord Baelish. He was a man of strategy for murder, and battle, though not with matrimony.

Catelyn folded her hands, eyes on him "I had not noticed, my lord." She wasn't bothered at all. From her appearance, she seemed like any other ladywife to a lord of Westeros.

Hers just happened to be the King's Hand too, "Forgive me but I would have taken more time to speak with the Queen Regent instead if that was what you wished. I know how fond you are of your writings, Lord Tywin."

A faint smirked dared to show itself on Tywin's lips. He chuckled even "You're too clever with words for your own good."

"Am I?" Her gaze dropped to her hands, which laid over her stitching of a fish. Tully colors too

"Perhaps I was less than interested the stitching, Lord Tywin, and more in that which is warmer." She could have easily been referring to the fireplace.

"You are warm?" He changed the subject instead. He was bothered by her words? There was a subtle clearing of a throat, he shifted in his seat. It seemed Lord Tywin was bothered by the heat. The heat surely, she assured herself.

"Quite. The night heat is not as vicious as the day." Her tone was level, soft as well as calm. Another silence before her husband spoke again. She was beginning to think Lord Tywin was uncomfortable. His behavior use to remind her of Lord Bolton. Serious.

"That is good then." Tywin took in a deep breath, and then sighed.

"Are you bothered by something, Lord Tywin?"

"No." His eyes suddenly on her. They were sharper than before. His tone was as leveled as hers however. He looked away, "I am not bothered, Cat." His Cat. Wasn't she Ned's Cat barely only some years previously?

He had slipped. He had made a mistake.

She stared, surprise all over her face, "Pardon, my lord?"

Tywin shook his head. Not bothering to even come up with a lie, "Nothing, my lady." He was tired.

She nodded her head, shrugging the curiosity off her shoulders. Perhaps some doors should not be opened so soon, especially with someone such as Tywin Lannister. Catelyn could always pay mind to it later.

"Of course, my lord." She said politely. Though she complied, letting it go, the name he had called her did not leave her mind. Sometimes, she'd never admit out loud, she didn't dream of Ned. Or Robb. Of Sansa and Arya. Or even Winterfell with its' snow castles.

She dreamt of Tywin Lannister's gaze on her.

It relaxed her, even if only a bit.


End file.
